


Hold the line

by Drifting_clouds



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: And Pastor, Because Pastor Is An Evil Genius, M/M, So he gets his own tag, crackish fic, lots of drivers mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 05:23:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drifting_clouds/pseuds/Drifting_clouds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vettel is persistent, Jenson is amused, Mark needs a hug (and Pastor has a plan).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold the line

**Author's Note:**

> It all started with a comment on LJ where a certain txt message from Sebastian was suggested and I kind of had to write this story. The fic is not beated, so I hope it’s not too bad!

The first text message arrives while they are having dinner, his cell phone buzzes and Jenson casts it a distracted glance that turns into horror. Horror that he desperately tries to conceal behind a mask of cool indifference, because sitting on the opposite side of the table, Mark Webber is in turn murdering his food and pushing the corpse around his plate. _At least he has stopped trying to set anyone on fire with his eyes_ , he muses, not that glaring daggers at random people is much better, but waiters are now venturing closer to the table once again and the Brit considers this an encouraging sign.

_Pls help make your bf like me again :( S.V._

Jenson contemplates banging his head on the wooden table, but he wearily rubs his forehead instead. Because, of course, trust bloody Sebastian Vettel to go all angsty at the worst possible moment.

“What’s wrong?” Mark asks without looking up from this plate.

Half of the people sitting around them are idly chatting about the weather, while the other half has moved to the roof terrace to smoke (and to discuss more serious topics that, Jenson is ready to bet, all revolve around the multi 21 fiasco). He debates lying, but then he shrugs and slides the phone across the table to the Australian. 

Mark reads the text message and rolls his eyes, then pushes the phone back. Jenson is grateful, albeit rather surprised, that he doesn’t have to pick up the remains of said phone with a broom and a dustpan and taps a quick answer… less than a minute later, he gets another message.

_Pls can’t you see I’m desperate?? I want to apologize but your bf won’t even talk to me!!1! S.V._

“Vettel again?”

Button nods.

“Apparently Joffrey Baratheon doesn’t take no for an answer …” he says.

“Tell him to sod off.”

Jenson snorts then he quickly taps _Seb, can’t your little crisis of conscience wait? This might not be the right time (and no, get your mind out of the gutter!)._ He debates adding _Mark says hello_ , but he values his life enough to risk it only on a F1 track. Not even thirty seconds are gone before his phone beeps again. This time Webber raises an eyebrow and Button takes advantage of the vacant chair next to the Australian to go sit beside him, turning the ringer off at the same time.

“Are you going to talk to your team mate ever again?”

Mark glares at him then spears a hapless salad leaf.

“Just asking” Jenson raises his hands in mock surrender “and eat your veggies.”

“Oh, shut up!” the Australian says, but he’s grinning now (the first real grin Jenson has seen on his face ever since he smuggled Mark out of the Red Bull headquarters) and he actually puts the salad in his mouth. From the other side of the table Alan Webber gives him a thumb up and the Brit smiles at him. When the phone buzzes, Mark stops grinning and Jenson decides that it’s about time to turn it off, but then his eyes fall on the message that has just arrived and he starts laughing. He’s laughing so hysterically, in fact, that the Australian casts him a rather concerned look.

_Jense, my friend, any idea why Vettel is pestering me about Mark? I would ask him directly, but your bf has pulled the vanishing act... DC_

The phone buzzes.

_Mark, turn on your fucking phone! Now! K.R._

And immediately again.

_Yes Jenson, I know this is actually your number K.R._

“Seb is doing some serious flirting with danger…”

“Oh, if I didn’t kill him on live TV I believe he has very little to worry about.”

“Not if he keeps annoying Kimi.”

Another buzz.

_Tell your bf he should never talk to Seb again. Actually, tell him to force him off the track on the next race… not that I have any personal interest in that, of course. :-P F.A._ followed by _that boy is persistent… why would he think I want to help him? Seriously, just tell Mark that I’m sorry and he deserved the win._

“Fernando is grateful for your future help with his third title.”

Jenson says as he casually slings an arm around Mark’s shoulders in a friendly gesture, the same gesture he had used when Mark emerged from the Red Bull briefing and all he could think was _he’s calling it quits, that’s what he told them in there, that’s why the room is so quiet_. Right then, all he had wanted was to hug the other man, but one look at the journalists loitering behind the building glass doors had convinced him to give up even as he moved to meet the Australian. Jenson bends closer so that their heads are almost touching now, as he shows Mark the second part of the message he got from Alonso. Webber gives him a wry smile then he turns his face toward him and says in a low voice:

“Do you think we could get out of here?”

The smile on the Brit’s face is so bright that it could light up the whole Marina Bay circuit. By the time they reach the hotel, Button has twelve more messages waiting for him: a puzzled one from Felipe, an even more puzzled one from Rob Smedley, a sympathetic one from Nico, a vaguely threatening one from Michael Schumacher, one from Pastor offering to pour a can of Red Bull in the fuel tank of Vettel’s car (Mark really likes this one, he can tell from the gleam in his eyes) and six from Vettel himself. Three more arrive during the quiet elevator ride from the lobby to the Australian’s room on the 16th floor. There are e-mail notifications and Whatsapp notifications as well, all lined up like soldiers at a military parade and waiting to be read.

“Man, I don’t even know if I should be more surprised that so many people know about us or that they have my phone number…” Jenson mumbles.

Chuckling slightly, the Australian motions him inside. The room is cool and the air conditioning makes the curtains flutter gently. Button stands there staring at Webber, mouth suddenly dry because his mind has gone blank and he can’t think of a single thing to say that could make things better. Surging forwards, he wraps an arm around the Australian’s neck, pulling the other man close so that their mouths can meet in a frantic, rather desperate kiss. His other hand twists in the Australian’s shirt as he kisses him again and then, of course, his phone starts buzzing and keeps doing so. Mark snorts then snatches the phone from the pocket of the light jacket that Jenson is wearing and the Brit has only time to see that the incoming call is from Sebastian before the phone meets its doom.

There’s a beautiful crystal vase on the nightstand beside the big bed, one of those tubular vases that look very modern and that are perfect for the impersonal room of a posh hotel. A bouquet of white tulips is stylishly arranged inside and small air bubbles desperately cling to the green stems before rising to the surface when an unexpected item disturbs their aquatic tranquillity. The phone sinks to the bottom like a small Titanic, screen flickering twice before water irreparably damages the circuits forever.

 _Red Bull in the fuel tank_ , Button thinks, _Pastor you’re a bloody genius_. But then Mark draws him close and the brilliant revenge scheme becomes suddenly less important, at least for a while.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> And well, it just occurred to me that if Vettel is Joffrey Baratheon then Mark is Ned Stark… people like me simply shouldn’t be allowed near a TV. No, actually I think that Mark might be Bronn...


End file.
